


Of Love and Ducks

by NuclearNik



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Paris (City), Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 11:18:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18659383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NuclearNik/pseuds/NuclearNik
Summary: Draco and Hermione take a trip to Paris. Things don't quite go as planned.





	Of Love and Ducks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MrsMast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsMast/gifts).



> Written for the lovely MrsMast for DFW's Birthday Exchange Fest. Hope you enjoy what was inspired by your beautiful aesthetic!
> 
> Thank you to the fabulous ravenslight for her fantastic last minute editing skills!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter Franchise

 

It was cold and wet in Paris.

Fat drops of rain splashed to the ground. They had ducked into a little pedestrian tunnel when the sky began to really open up. Hermione loved the smell of rain. It always brought her back to long nights spent studying in the nooks and crannies of Hogwarts castle, listening to rain fall against stone. It soothed her.

But she wasn't feeling very soothed at the moment, standing next to her childhood enemy turned boyfriend, who quite vehemently hated the rain and couldn't stand still to save his life.

He had surprised her with a trip to France, to do and see all the things she had only read about in books. They’d been having a wonderful time, free from responsibility, work, and judgemental old men in her department at the Ministry that she frequently wanted to hex for the way they looked down at her for simply being Muggle-born.

But the weather had put a damper on their plans.

“Will you just relax, Draco? You're making me nervous with your twitching.”

He leaned down to her ear to whisper-shout. “Relax? _Relax_ , she says. I would love to, if not for the fact that we are stuck in a musty tunnel, practically soaked to the bone, and completely unable to perform magic due to the countless number of Muggles scurrying around! What about that could possibly be relaxing to you?” 

“Quit being dramatic. All we have to do is wait out the storm, which I'm sure will clear soon, and then we can continue on our way to the _Arc de Triomphe._ Hopefully we’ll still catch it at just the right time to see the sun set behind it.”

Draco sulked, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets as he glared at the ground like a petulant child.

“Very mature, Malfoy.” Hermione unwound the scarf from her neck before gathering her hair and tightly wrapping it up. If she didn't get it under control now it would be a frizzy nightmare to try to untangle later tonight—even with the use of magic.

She knew Draco wasn't necessarily trying to be difficult. They hadn't eaten since that morning, and they’d spent an inordinate amount of time at the Louvre because she had wanted to see everything, as she wasn’t sure when she would have the opportunity to explore Paris again. He'd been patient and sweet even though crowds of Muggles still made him uncomfortable sometimes.

They’d really had a long day. She knew he was tired and grumpy, and she wasn't much better, though she was unbelievably happy to be taking in the architecture and history of Paris. It had been a lot, even she could admit that. She had a tendency to meticulously plan out itineraries down to the minute and not leave much room for any actual downtime during what was meant to be a relaxing holiday.

With a glance to be sure that the other people huddled under cover from the storm were minding their own business, Hermione stepped in front of Draco, slipping her hands beneath his coat to wrap her arms around his back. She pressed her cheek to his chest, breathing in the scent of damp cotton.

“It's been a long day. You've been fantastic and patient, and I appreciate you. There's an Apparition point down the street and one block over. If we hurry, we might be able make it there without completely turning into drowned rats, and we can do the Arc another day.”

She felt his chest move with a deep sigh, but he didn't say anything.

Hermione looked up at him, propping her chin on his sternum and raising an eyebrow, wondering what he could possibly be annoyed about now.

He huffed out a laugh and said, “You think of everything, don't you? My little know-it-all.”

“Lucky for you I do or you would be stuck in the rain with no knowledge of Apparition points, sir.”

He stuck his tongue out, and she knew he was done pouting, at least for now, so she stepped back and slipped her hand into his.

“Shall we run for our lives?”

One side of his mouth pulled up, and he responded with “Oh yes, let's.”

 

* * *

 

This was not how Draco had envisioned this particular evening would go.

In the last few days they had been all over Paris, going to museums and historical sites, little cafes and busy parks. But today was the _pièce de résistance._ They had spent all day at Hermione’s personal heaven. She had been overjoyed and—if you asked him—far happier than the average person should be when she found out that the afternoon he had planned for them included the _Bibliothèque Mazarine_ , the oldest public library in France.

All libraries looked pretty much the same to him—a bit boring and too reminiscent of nights spent going without sleep just to pass an exam—but seeing the look on her face as she so carefully ran her fingers lovingly over the spines of old books made it entirely worth the boredom.

Presently, they were next to the Seine, sparkling and beautiful and nothing like the Thames. The trees along the bank were heavy with spring blooms. It was a setting that should have been lovely and romantic, and it was supposed to be merely a stop on their way to _La Tour Eiffel_ , where everything would be perfect and just how he arranged it to be.

They would stand together looking out at the city glittering like stars, and he would get down on one knee like that bloke in the film she made him watch at the hotel. She’d say yes and love the ring he picked. They’d live happily ever after, and the nerves making him nauseous would finally settle.

Instead, they were arguing, hissing retorts at each other whilst trying not to draw attention.

A few feet away, a grey-haired woman in a butter yellow raincoat whispered to a flock of ducks that had gathered around her, breaking off little pieces of bread for the birds to eat and resolutely ignoring the two angry people just to her left.

“Listen, Granger—”

“Oh now it's Granger, is it? _Granger._ Yet, I'm sure I heard ‘Hermione’ escape you earlier when I was suck—”

“Not for long, if you'd just bloody shut it!”

They stared each other down for long moments, blinking and breathing hard.

“What did you say?”

“Well now you've gone and ruined the whole thing! I should have known you wouldn't be capable of simply enjoying the moment and being on the receiving end of a grand gesture! In fact—”

“Draco.” She stepped closer, brows drawn together, speaking very slowly and looking like she might hit him if he didn't stop going on. “What do you mean ‘ _not for long’?”_

“I want to marry you, you daft witch!”

He may have said that a bit too loud because the ducks startled away and the woman feeding them glared sharply in his direction.

Hermione still said nothing. She just kept staring at him, her mouth slightly agape and eyes narrowed, sort of like the way she used to puzzle through a complicated arithmancy problem. Like she was trying to figure him out. It unnerved him, and he moved to open his mouth to say something— _anything_ —to fill the silence when she held up a hand to stop him.

“Why?” This interrogation shite was getting old. He was not a wizard prone to squirming, but Merlin did being pinned under her gaze make him feel all sorts of unsettled.

“Why do I want to marry you? That’s a stupid fucking question.”

She rolled her eyes. “I mean why _now_? You know I don’t need some antiquated bond to know you want to be with me. You don’t need to feel pressured—”

Draco fought a sigh, knowing exactly what gave her pause. When they had reconnected years after graduation, two broken people whose sharp edges fit together, he had told her flat out that he thought marriage was nothing but empty promises and fake smiles.

His parents had never been faithful to each other; after all, marriages arranged for money and power didn’t often come with love. After seeing his parents grow irreparably bitter, Draco hadn’t much cared for the institution.

“I don’t want to marry you because I feel pressured. Or because I think it’s what you want. Or because we’re in our twenties now and settling down is expected.

“I just… want, Hermione. I want to be tied to you until the end of this life. I want you to take my name or—or... hyphenate it! Because you’re modern and independent, and I love that about you and—have I mentioned I love you? Because I fucking do, Hermione. I love you so fucking much my chest aches with it sometimes. I want to raise wild-haired little hellions with you, and I want you to snap at me for leaving muddy quidditch gear by the door, and I want to be concerned about your ever-growing pile of books getting a mind of its own and attacking us in our sleep.”

Her eyes were now wide and intense, but at that, she laughed.

 _Children?_ Had he really just said that? That hadn’t been part of the speech he had planned.

Had his hard stance against ever having kids for fear of turning out like his father somehow slowly been eclipsed by his stupidly out of control love for this witch? The one who simultaneously made him want to punch a hole in the wall and shout her praises to the stars? 

All at once, fighting about something ridiculous and standing next to a nutty old woman talking to ducks, he realized it had.

“Well? Does the girl with an answer for everything have nothing to say?” She still hadn’t spoken, and he started to worry that perhaps he had misread the entire situation and she was about to dump him to make a life with some handsome Frenchman when she reached up to cup his face.

“Promise me— _swear to me_ —that you aren’t just doing this to make me happy.”

He pulled her hands away from his face because he couldn't speak very well with her boney little fingers digging into his jaw. “Of course I want to make you happy! Are you barmy? The only thing I ever want to do is make you happy. But guess what? I’ll be happy too. I’ll get to spend my life with you, damn it, and I want that! For myself. I want you—you and your hairball cat and your sticky teacups that you leave lying all over—forever. Is that too much to ask?”

Her eyes looked suspiciously wet, and he started to panic before one word slipped quietly out of her mouth, disbelief lacing it. “Yes.”

“Yes it’s too much to ask?” Fuck, he was hoping that would be a rhetorical question.

“Yes, I’ll marry you, you idiot.”

“Oh,” he said stupidly, struck dumb by her words.

And then they were kissing, and the woman with the ducks was clapping for them, and Draco felt three things that a few years ago he never imagined he would ever feel again: peace and warmth and light.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading. I'd love to know your thoughts! Constructive criticism is always welcome.


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